Dereliction
by La Pythie
Summary: 1794. England and Seychelles meet for the first time, one week before the first British attack against the French settlers. /Contains non explicit sex/


**Dereliction**

**1794**

England woke up to the sound of waves crashing upon the shore. In other circumstances the lapping waves would have lulled him back to sleep but an ominous feeling forced him to sit straight and rub the sleep out of his eyes. He cringed when sea water somehow made contact with his eyes. It was a familiar, yet stinging sensation. He soon enough realised that his hands were wet... and not only his hands, for his clothes annoyingly clung to him. He hissed when a new, painful sensation lashed out at his nerves. It was coming from his left arm. He tentatively looked at his throbbing limb and felt nauseated when he discovered that his white sleeve had been torn to pieces to reveal a hideous looking wound. He ran a hand across his face. _Oh lord... why couldn't he remember anything?_

He unsteadily got to his feet, determined to find a shady place to lie down. If he didn't find shelter from the sun right now, he would dehydrate like a frog out of water. He squinted. He could see palmtrees from a distance. Just what he needed. He took his first step, struggling to keep balance, focusing on putting one feet after the other. It hurt. It had too be his boots. They squeezed his heels. He sat down again and savagely kicked them off with all the strength he could muster. The small effort was enough to drain him. He blacked out.

It was nighttime when he opened his eyes again. This time two silhouettes were standing near him. One of them was broad and tall whereas the other was small and lean. He couldn't distinguish their features since it was so dark. He closed his eyes. He had to be dreaming. One of them sayed something in a fast, modulated language and a female voice replied using the same funny dialect. Then the man picked England up as if he were weightless and it became clear to him that those two persons were indeed real. A vague feeling of terror ran from the tip of his hair to his backbone. However, he did not allow himself to move. No, Not yet. He had to know their intentions first. He could see light coming from a mansion he had failed to see earlier. They were in all likelihood taking him there.

As they approached towards the house, they were sunddenly bathed in a warm light provided by torches that were meant to light their way in the thick forest surrounding the mansion. It suddenly became clear to England that they were certainly not going to slaughter him in such a nice house.

"Oh, le voilà qui se réveille!" the girl said in a sing-song voice when she noticed his eyes were open.

Her tanned skin contrasted with the white dress she was wearing and she had long, dark brown hair that framed her face and gave her a girlish air. She leaned towards his face, as if afraid that he would not hear if she spoke from a normal distance.

"Dites-moi l'ami, pouvez-vous marcher? Say, can you walk?" she asked in a surprisingly intelligible English.

He dumbly nodded, not quite recovering from the strange situation he was in. The man -whom he could now identify as a slave of African ancestry- let him down. They had resumed walking at a slow pace when the girl interrupted them again.

"See how shaky you are!" she exclaimed, addressing England. "You will faint before you reach the house! Here, let me help you."

She offered her shoulder as a support.

"I can walk on my own, thank you," he said in a strained voice.

The man let out a bark-like and the girl urged them to stop making fun of her... or so he thought. It was difficult to understand what they said. It sounded like French mingled with something wild.

"Here we are! Merci pour ton aide," she exclaimed when they arrived.

England guessed that she was sending the other man away. He looked at England and frowned. Then the girl said something and he finally agreed to leave.

"What did you say to him?" England asked once they were inside the mansion. It was a beautiful house filled with ancient wooden furniture that seemed to have been left untouched for years.

"That you were too weak to attempt anything against me," she replied in a gentle tone.

England wondered whether she was trying to make fun of him. But it didn't seem likely, since she was warmly smiling at him.

She led him to a giant bedroom and told him to lie down while she went to get some medicine for his arm. When she returned, he was already dozing off peacefully.

When he woke up the next morning, fresh clothes were waiting for him on a chair. He was amazed to find that the girl had managed to clean and bandage his wound while he was asleep. He was washing his face and torso with fresh water when she stepped in the room. This time she was wearing a blue dress and she had tied her hair in two messy pigtails. Her eyes traveled from his bare chest to his arm and back again. Most European girls would have run away blushing but she blatantly stayed in the room, apparently used to nudity.

"Good morning, Seychelles," England lazily said.

He smirked when she suddenly recoiled, a hand raised to cover her mouth. It was a nice way to knock some sense into that imprudent girl.

"If you want to keep your identity secret, then you shouldn't invite strangers in your house."

"You are no stranger to me, England. I am just... surprised that you know me."

"Good, very good indeed. And knowing who I am, it still doesn't bother you to have France's number one enemy under your roof."

Seychelles pointed an accusing finger at him.

"Stop being so patronising, England, and be thankful that the French settlers didn't find you beofre I did. What do you have against me? Your crew is dead and your weapons have sank to the bottom of the sea. You are the only survivor of a shipwreck and you will be treated as such, regardless of what France told me about you. Now take that (she threw a pair of boots at him). You've forgotten them on the beach."

Having said that, she stormed out the room. England remembered everything now. He had been aboard a reconnaissance ship meant to facilitate the attack the United Kingdom was about to launch upon Quincy's army on Mahé Island. Poor Seychelles, who thought he had nothing against her.

* * *

"It didn't take me long to find you," England said as he came to sit next to Seychelles in the warm sand.

She was stringing pearls on a thread, carefully choosing the beads from a small bag.

"I want to apologise for my attitude earlier. It was..."

"Very appropriate. I know all too well that I shouldn't disobey France's orders like that but I simply can't muster the courage to send those shipwrecked sailors to their death. Is it such a bad thing?"

She put her work down without caring to secure it, thus sending all the pearls rolling in the sand.

"It is. But I guess that's just the normal attitude of a lonely person. If I visited my own colonies every twelve years I think they would go crazy too."

She turned her large, soulful eyes on him.

"Don't say that," she said sadly.

"That's the truth," he replied.

"I thought you wanted to apologise," she shot accusingly.

"I didn't mean to hurt _you. _But don't expect me to say anything nice about France. Everyone knows he's a selfish brute," he shot back.

She ended the argument with a shrug.

England watched the blue waves as they languidly licked the shore. Seychelles really was a beautiful place. He could understand why France had taken an interest in the island, since he seemed to like everything that was pretty. He watched Seychelles as she got up. The wind sent her dress flying and for a split second he caught a glimpse of her sun-kissed legs. He quickly looked away, even if there was no real need to. He was starting to think about her in ways that were not appropriate. She held out a hand to him. It seemed like the girl was prone to forgive... well, at least it proved that she was not a hypocrite. It seemed like she really was going to treat him like the poor survivor that she thought he was. How naïve of her.

"Come on, let's go! " she said. "You must be starving."

It was true. He hadn't eaten for two entire days, which explained why he was feeling so feeble. They used a short-cut and reached the mansion in a surprisingly small amount of time. There, she told him to wait for her in the dining room while she went out to get the meal. She went back with a dish of cold rice with corn and slices of fish seasoned with salt, pepper and lemon.

"Where did you get all that?" he asked as she placed the dishes on the table.

"I've prepared everything this morning. I actually live in a much smaller house, not far from here. This is where I prefer to cook."

"But why live in a much smaller house when you have this gigantic place?"

"Well... I don't like having such a big place all to myself. I only use it when France comes to visit me."

Was she really so desperate for company that she considered England a suitable companion? Newcome's army would be there in two weeks... perhaps three, depending on the weather. She regret treating him like that when it happened.

"So?"

It shook him out of his reverie. He quickly swallowed the piece of fish he had been chewing for several minutes.

"Errr it's good."

"I'm glad to hear it," she said with shining eyes, looking genuinely happy. "But it's not what I asked."

"I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention," he apologised.

"I said: 'does your arm still hurt?'"

"No, not really. I think it's healing rather rapidly."

"Wow... big nations really heal faster than us."

"Do you want to take a look?"

He rolled his sleeve up and she laboriously removed the bandage. She gasped and then carefully caressed the edges of the wound with her index finger. Her gentle touch sent shivers down his spine.

"I know they say that sea water has wonderful healing effects but this is simply miraculous."

He smiled. The girl's candid expression was simply irresistible. It felt refreshing to simply be in her presence after so many months of being with the same people... and not seeing any women, of course.

"Are you sure that my entire crew died, Seychelles?" he asked suddenly. "Isn't there... just a tiny possibility that some of my men survived like I did?"

"Well... if other people did survive, it is most likely that they'll end up on the same beach you were washed up on your first day here... Come with me, I'll show you something useful."

She took his hand and urged him to get up for the second time of the day. England strongly suspected that Seychelle's lonely life had turned her into a child eager to show people around. He followed her outside through a sinuous path that seemed to lead nowhere. Just when he thought they were completely lost, she pointed at a wooden structure that was almost completely concealed by the dense vegetation. She kicked the door open and before his eyes appeared a spiral staircase that climbed to the top of the tower. She started the ascension and England followed her. The wooden steps groaned under his feet and he stopped. Seychelles smiled reassuringly at him and then resumed her ascension.

"Trust me, I swear it won't collapse!" he heard her say.

The walls were so close together that if she fell, he was sure that they would both fall to their death. However, his main preoccupation was the way her hips gently swayed everytime she took a step higher. It was distracting him. After several minutes that felt like hours, they finally emerged in a small, bare room containting a large, glassless window that provided a stunning view on the ocean.

"It's a watchtower the settlers have built a decade ago. I used to spend entire nights here, watching the ocean to see whether France was coming back for me. It's yours now. You'll be the first person to know if they come back for you. And if they don't, you can wait for a Dutch ship, perhaps a Portugese one..."

"But why are you doing this?" he interrupted her. "This spot is strategic gold... you could predict the enemies' arrival days in advance!"

She looked embarrassed.

"I just thought it might be useful for you to know about this place."

"'Useful'? I think it's an understatement when you think about all the things the enemy could do using this place. What do you think you're doing? Is this some kind of trap or are you really trying to sabotage France's military strategy?"

Her face flushed at the accusation.

"I was just trying to be nice, why are you yelling at me all of a sudden? Everything is not about enemies and traps and double-crossing other people!"

"YES IT IS!"

The tone of his voice instantly made her step back. Her back made contact with the wall and fear made her eyes glisten as she realized that she was trapped... that she had deliberately trapped herself with the enemy. He came closer to her, placing his hands at each side of her head, pinning her even closer to the wall. Her breathing quickened as he leaned up a little and gazed directly into her large, doe-like eyes.

"You don't know what I have up my sleeve. I could be planning to raid your place with the British army for all you know. And just think about all the things I could do to you _right now."_

His hand hovered over her face and traveled down her neck to rest on her left breast. He could feel her demented heartbeat agaisnt his palm. He heard her hiss in pain when he sadistically pinched her nipple, just hard enough to make her squirm. She inadvertently pressed her pelvic bone against his and gasped when she felt that male part of him prodding at her inner thighs. England had to stop. This little lesson he was trying to teach her was turning into something else entirely. He had to stop but knew he wouldn't be able to.

Then they heard a noise outside. It could have been anything: a wild animal, a ripe fruit falling from a tree... But it caused enough momentary distraction to enable her to break free from him. Without looking back, she disappeared in the staircase.

* * *

According to his calculations, Newcome's army was due to arrive any time now. Several days had passed since what he now called the "tower incident". He hadn't spoken to Seychelles ever since and only saw her during her numerous appearances on the beach. She would sometimes even go as far as to undress and swim wearing only a white shirt that would become transparent the second it made contact with water. If she knew that England could see her from the watchtower, then she chose to simply ignore it. In his opinion she swam remarkably well, somewhat like the mermaids the English folklore sometimes refers to. He could not remember the last time he had not woken up with the image of a beautiful, doe-yed mermaid behind his closed eyelids.

And one day her appearances simply stopped. For the first couple of days he simply suspected that she was busy in some other part of the island, but when she failed to show up for the fifth time in a row, it became clear to him that something was wrong. Why did he care anyway? He knew she was going to end up hating him, anyway. All his colonies did, at some point. She would be no expection.

He was gazing out the window when he heard the wooden steps creaking under someone's weight. Seychelles entered the room. He could tell from her red eyes and dishevelled hair that she had been crying. Without saying a word, she sat on the floor opposite him. She was wearing that thin white dress again and he could make out the contours of her body under the moonlight.

"So you're back... I thought we had tacitly agreed that I couldn't behave in your presence," he said with a sneer, hiding the fact that he was secretly relieved to see she was alright... physically speaking, anyway.

She didn't answer. In fact, she wasn't even making eye-contact with him. She was gazing outside the window as if he wasn't even here, her eyes fixed upon the horizon.

"Where have you been?"

"To Victoria," she answered after a while in a weird, languid voice that didn't sound quite like her. "I went to visit Camcambo."

He could guess she was refering to the African man who had carried him on the day of his arrival.

"So what?"

"He's dead. They hadn't meant to kill him... just to wound him a bit so he would not try to flee again. And now he's dead."

It secretly made England ill to think about what had happened to this man, but he would not allow himself to grieve something France was responsible for. Seychelles seemed to notice his lack of visible emotion for she took a long, hard look at him.

"What ?" he snapped.

"I thought you would say something about this. Slave trade has been made illegal in the United Kingdom long ago."

"Do you want me to feel sorry for you? I don't feel sorry for people who don't want my help."

"And why do you think I'm here for?"

He frowned at her suspiciously, genuinely surprised. It did explain a lot of things, though.

"So, is this what you were doing all this time? You took care of me, you showed me the secret spots of your island because you actually wanted me to help you?"

"I'm not stupid, England. I know exactly what you're preparing. You've been up here for days because you're expecting some kind of help coming from the mainland. And it has something to do with me."

He had to admit he had underestimated her. She was a lot smarter than he had initially thought. But a question was still burning his lips.

"But aren't you afraid of me?"

He still remebered how frightened she had look when he had touched her for the first time. She crawled to him. When they were nearly three inches from touching each other, she leaned towards his face. He could smell the scent of wild flowers emanating from her long hair.

"England... you can have me as long (she kissed his cheek) as you promise to never (she kissed the corner of this mouth) leave me alone (she kissed his mouth)."

He circled his arms around her waist, bringing her closer to him. He wanted her. Right now, he wanted her more than anything in the world. He burried his face in the curve of her neck, inhaling the flowery smell of her bare skin.

"Then so be it," he whispered

* * *

The sun was already high in the sky when Seychelles woke up. Shivering on the wooden floor, she distractedly picked up her dress that had been left in a heap on the floor along with England's shirt. England was already up, his head resting on his hand while he looked out the window. Three tiny dots were visible somewhere in the horizon. Newcome's army was finally coming.

For the first time in her life, Seychelles felt free.


End file.
